A Bottle Can't Hold You
by Caprichoso
Summary: Rating changed for language and sexual content. "Everyone had ways of dealing with pain; his current method involved mass amounts of cheap vodka." Kurt is taking a breakup very badly. Dark, and projected to get darker as it goes.
1. Plastic Bottles

A Bottle Can't Hold You

AN: At the moment this is a one-shot, but I have plans to expand it if it's received well. Further chapters would include much more character interaction and dialogue.

Warnings: Angst and alcoholism. There's no light at the end of this particular tunnel/chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and borrow much. I suppose I own Nicholas, but feel free to use him as long as you let me know.

The town of Bayville was home to two grocery stores, each serving a distinct clientele that rarely overlapped. Morton's Family Grocer catered to the grassroots community, the sort of people who went out of their ways to support local businesses, buy organic, get to know their grocers— old-fashioned feel-good shopping. Witt's, on the other hand, was a massive chain store, three times the size of Morton's, better stocked, with better prices.

Business at Witt's was conducted with the cold, efficient friendliness mandated by a corporate headquarters that knew people wanted to see a smile, however fake, on their cashiers' faces. Every customer was to be asked in a cheery voice, "How are you today?" These were the rules, set down in the Witt's Grocery Inc. Guidelines and Procedures Handbook. There was also another rule, albeit unspoken, regarding the expectations of the customer: he or she was always to respond with some sort of vaguely positive remark, thus freeing the cashier of any further pretense of caring until the requisite, "Have a nice day." It was how business moved.

Outside of his job at Witt's, Nicholas had a fairly interesting personal life, complete with last name, not that it mattered. Once he donned his uniform and stepped onto the rubber pad (mandated by Corporate to avoid lawsuits over foot fatigue) in front of the cash register, he was just Nicholas, Witt's employee. He went about his job, took his required breaks, and only after he went out the automatic glass doors did he become himself again. In a way he was glad of that; outside of work, he might have been deeply troubled by his newest regular customer.

Every night at about eight, the customer in question walked into the store. He was a man both imminently noticeable and almost entirely unremarkable; his appearance was nothing out of the ordinary for any of the vagrants who wandered through Bayville on their way to nowhere, but there was something about his bearing that set him apart from the other drifters.

Salt-and-pepper stubble hung on his face, a permanent fixture: day after day, he always appeared to have gone two days without a razor. His greasy black hair was streaked with gray hairs and all manner of disreputable-looking stains, his bright red jacket torn and patched with duct tape or occasionally a sloppy stitch. Baggy pants swirled around his legs, filthy as the rest of him. His fingernails were long and yellowed, some split down the middle and all with a buildup of grime underneath. A face that could once have been quite handsome was smudged with dirt and cracked by wrinkles, yet anyone who gave him a look would likely place him at just thirty-odd years. Sunken blue eyes were made even more haunting by crow's feet and heavy bags beneath the lower eyelids. His posture was conflicted, as though he was struggling to rid himself of his hopes for a better life while still retaining scraps of his pride.

The man wandered into the store with an awkward gait, body hunched over but picking his feet up as he walked. It gave him an odd, lurching step. Nicholas had never seen anyone walk quite the same way. Nicholas watched as the vagrant made a beeline for the same aisle as always, stopped for a moment and grabbed two bottles off of the shelf, and came to the quick checkout register— Nicholas' register. The bottles landed on the conveyor belt and began making their way towards the scanner.

It was always vodka, and always the cheapest on the shelf, the stuff that would have served better as paint thinner than as a beverage. The liquor came in clear plastic bottles, less expensive to produce than glass. No one who bought that brand of vodka was particularly worried about the taste difference between plastic and glass bottles. This customer obviously wanted to punish his throat as well as his liver.

Nicholas dreaded the next moment throughout his entire workday; he was obligated to ask the question that had already been answered by the man's purchase.

"H-how are you today?" he finally stammered out as the two bottles reached him. _Please don't, please God no, just this once…_

The stranger raised his head briefly, and in his eyes Nicholas found all the answers he had been dreading. The ice-blue irises offered no specifics, no details, no reasons. They were so hollow and lifeless that it seemed their bearer could not understand why that question would be asked even as a cordiality. Whatever had happened to this man, it had wounded him beyond what he could bear, and he had carefully cultivated this hollow drunkenness in order to hold at least a shell of himself together. Nicholas quickly sought refuge from those eyes by grabbing the bottles and dragging them through the scanner.

"Eleven sixty-three, please." Nicholas fell back on the cold comfort of something as reliable as prices. The vodka cost money, like grapes or milk or sausages or any of the thousand other items in the store that would not reduce a man to this state. That much was good. That much was right.

A few crumpled bills and coins found their way onto the counter next to Nicholas' hand. The man had had exact change ready. For some reason it was even more disturbing that he was familiar enough with his poison to know its exact price.

Nicholas shoved the bottles into a plastic bag, glad to be nearly rid of the thought of them. "Thank you, have a nice day," he mumbled as the bag was lifted in one fist and whisked away, off to be dealt with elsewhere. That was what mattered; it would be taken care of elsewhere.

As the sliding glass doors released the stranger to his fate, Nicholas did not think it unusual that he had not checked the man's ID; no one ever carded vagrants. There was no need.

Outside the store, the unfortunate soul wandered down a few streets and into an alleyway. He strayed between two dumpsters, cast a furtive glance around, and crouched down.

A wisp of purple smoke rose above the dumpsters, quickly dissipating in the slight breeze that wound through the alley. The man was gone.

Back at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, the figure reappeared, bag in hand, dropping softly from midair onto a bedroom floor strewn with clothes and personal effects. He set down the bag and reached for his wrist, and his face and body began to flicker. One moment later, the middle-aged vagrant was gone, and in his place crouched what looked for all the world like a blue-furred demon, complete with spaded tail.

Kurt Wagner reached into the bag, retrieved one of the plastic bottles, unscrewed the cap, and gave the bottle a deep kiss. Several seconds and inches of liquid later, he could take no more and brought the bottle upright again, coughing involuntarily at the harsh alcohol.

Making his way over to his nightstand, he opened the bottom drawer and placed the bag with the remaining bottle deep inside, covering it with stray papers, then closed the drawer, removing all evidence from plain sight. Yellow eyes ran to the top of the nightstand, where indigo fingers lightly stroked a picture frame that was lying face down. It was a struggle not to look again at the photo it held; at the moment, his resolve was strong, but he knew that some sort of nostalgic masochism would eventually convince him to flip it over. Then the memories would return.

Over the past few weeks, Kurt had created a precarious state of unfeeling with the help of mass quantities of bad vodka, but certain things were enough to break through his defenses and send the pain flooding in again. An empty vessel is all the more susceptible to being filled. He had to stay hollow, had to keep his shell together; it was the only way he could keep going. His teammates needed him to be himself, even when he was not himself.

The blue teen took another few swigs to fortify his defenses, then screwed the cap on tightly. He would stay in control tonight; tonight nothing would break through. He promised himself that. Kurt had always been good at keeping his promises, far better at it than she had ever—

_NO!_

Kurt shook his head fiercely, trying to rid himself of that line of thinking. Those thoughts were bad. They could hurt him, make everything fall apart again. That wasn't going to happen tonight.

His bed creaked lightly as he threw himself upon it. A testament to the professor's generosity, the queen-sized bed was soft and inviting. Still, Kurt thought, there was one oversight: it was too big for one person. It felt wrong not to have a second weight next to him, to not be able to reach over and touch strands of dark brown—

_STOP IT!_

He slammed his face into the comforter again and again, wondering why it had such a name in English when it was doing absolutely nothing to comfort him. Then again, not even the vodka seemed to be doing that tonight. Kurt let out a deep sigh and stretched out his limbs. He froze when his tail touched soft fabric that was not the comforter.

His head lifted off of the bed momentarily to examine the object now held in his tail. It was his favorite hooded sweatshirt. The tail transferred it to a tridactyl hand, and Kurt, fighting a losing battle with himself, brought the fabric to his face and inhaled deeply.

It smelled of cloves and jasmine, that unique and mildly exotic blend of scents that only one person he knew wore. He had lent this sweatshirt to her, back when… back before…

Kurt's elfin features twisted into a terrible grimace, fangs biting into his lower lip until blood flowed, eyes held tightly, painfully shut. With strangled growl, he threw the sweatshirt as far from him as he could. An involuntary shudder ran through his entire body, all the way down to his tail, and his shoulders began to shake. His now-bleeding mouth opened in a silent scream, an expression of purest agony. Thoughts and memories were wracking his body with sobs that he was barely managing to keep quiet.

Kurt Wagner lay weeping in silence, clutching the bottle of vodka in his arms. He prayed that he would sleep soon, and that for once, he would not dream.

And he sincerely hoped that Amanda Sefton would be happy with her new boyfriend.


	2. Katzenjammer

_**AN:**__ A very big thanks to Nightcrawler's Shadow, my ever-faithful beta. Kurt's accent is omitted purposefully: written accents tend to interfere heavily with a story's comprehensibility, and I trust you all to know how it sounds._

_**Warnings:**__ VERY dark material, angst, Jott-bashing, and a reference to rape. Oh my!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't even own a nice car, much less the X-Men._

**Chapter 2: **_**Katzenjammer**_

Kurt awoke to the sensation of fists pummeling entire body in a perversely regular rhythm, the majority of the blows trained on his head. His weak attempt at some sort of protest was thwarted by a swollen and impossibly dry tongue, a mutinous piece of flesh that threatened to choke him at a moment's notice.

After a brief moment of thrashing about to avoid his assailants, he realized that the pounding was his own heartbeat.

Wunderbar_. Headache from Hell, tongue like _Weißbrot_. Hangover... again._

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, letting out a louder moan and trying to burrow headfirst into his pillow. Sunrise shot burning rays through a sloppily-drawn curtain, each photon seeming to cut a little farther into the space just above his eye sockets.

Kurt lay face down, hands wrapping the pillow around his head so that he could temporarily stave off at least one source of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut until the effort was rewarded with an even stronger pounding in his head; this time smashing against his eyeballs and making him see vaguely waffle-shaped patterns in yellow and black. Opening his eyes halfway was no better; the light scraping of his eyelashes brushing against his pillowcase sounded like palm branches being dragged along the world's biggest aluminum trashcan.

Just getting out of bed was going to be terrible.

He willed himself to go back to sleep, to ignore the ungodly assault on his senses, to at least find some sort of momentary relief.

No luck.

He was going to have to face the day whether he wanted to or not; and he most certainly did not.

Three fingers patted blindly around the bed in search of the bottle, and three more set themselves to fumbling with the cap once it had been located.

With eyes still closed, he rolled over to his side and flexed his spine, bringing his upper body off the bed at nearly a ninety-degree angle.

_Ah, the fringe benefits of mutation._

In this new position, he took a deep swig from the bottle…

And barely restrained an agonized groan when the alcohol hit the two puncture wounds in his lower lip.

_Oh, that's right; one of the not-so-beneficial parts of being a side show freak._

Kurt forced himself to swallow despite every instinct that screamed at him to spit the offending liquid out, then slowly lowered himself back down onto his pillow. He lay in silence, trying not to move more than the amount it took to bring the vodka to his lips again from this position on his side.

Ignoring the burn and sting, he continued to self-medicate for about a quarter of a bottle; in the mornings, before others had awoken, he measured time in fractions of bottles, having no other concept of its passing.

When he had regained a certain amount of stability, he allowed himself to open first one golden eye, then the other. His headache was mostly gone, thanks to the alcohol, and even the light was less of a bother than he had expected.

The sun had now risen; Jean would be up, as would Scott. No one else would even be thinking about waking up for another half hour at least. Kurt's early-morning 'porting wakeup calls had ended when…

_No, not again!_

Well, they had ended when he had found a need to crawl into a bottle.

Kurt placed the vodka and the cap on his nightstand, slowly moved into a crouch on the side of his bed, and began fiddling with his image inducer, switching the image back to his customary teenaged alter ego.

In the three weeks since… since he had started this, he had become an expert at manipulating his watch. He had the settings for both personas memorized, and switching between them took less than a minute of tinkering. And if the Nightcrawler ever needed to hide marks on his blue-furred self, he could summon that image in about two.

He idly wondered how long it would take before his appearance started deteriorating enough that he would need to use that last image.

Fumes from the vodka were rolling off of his breath. That wouldn't do. Another inch or so came out of the bottle in one pull, the cap went back on, and Kurt padded off to the bathroom for the morning's necessities.

He brushed his teeth three times with extra toothpaste, being sure to pay special attention to his tongue. His breath still smelled of alcohol, but the mint made it seem like nothing more than mouthwash. A hand delved into his pocket to check his stash of breath mints; nothing to worry about there.

Time to clock in for another day.

Kurt teleported the corner of the kitchen where he knew no one would be at this hour, startling Scott and Jean as always with his smoky _bamf_ upon re-entry. One would think that after a few years of living with that every day, they would have come to expect it.

Then again, Kurt wasn't entirely sure Kätzchen had ever quite gotten used to his eyes. She could never bring herself to meet them with her own.

"_Morgen_, fearless leaders," he mumbled as he made a beeline for the pantry. Reaching inside, he pulled out what had become his breakfast for the past several weeks— a loaf of bread. White, wheat, potato; it didn't particularly matter what kind it was to him. It was sustenance, and it was what his rebellious stomach would hold down.

"Morning, Kurt," Scott replied, looking up from his newspaper.

As a senior in high school, Scott had been a bit stiff and formal, to put it mildly; the second he graduated, he had apparently undergone an operation to shove the proverbial stick even farther up than it had been before.

At the ripe old age of 19, he had been reading the paper religiously every single day for over a year. Rarely did he find anything interesting or useful; it was something he did as a badge of his adulthood.

Kurt had once done a bit of math on a whim, and found that in a year, Scott devoted a full two weeks of his life to reading mindless drivel that did nothing to benefit anyone.

As a team leader, Cyclops had become nearly unbearable after he had turned eighteen. His overdeveloped sense of responsibility had merged with a heaping extra dose of moral certainty from being an "adult" in charge of "kids" who were often no more than a year his junior.

Kurt had been glad of the times when Logan would knock Scott off of his pedestal with a simple observation here and there that highlighted just how inexperienced the younger man still was.

Then Logan had left, had gone off to find answers or peace or whatever it was that he rode towards on that motorcycle of his. All Kurt knew was that the Wolverine's absence stretched on for months. And all the while, Scott became more and more of a slave driver.

Currently, Cyclops had the X-Men running more sessions per day than Logan ever had, even as punishment. The sessions were not geared toward anything in particular; there was no lesson to learn, no challenge to help them further develop their powers. Scott merely pushed the difficulty higher and higher on the old simulations.

It was pointless torture, and Kurt was pushed to the breaking point trying to keep up with Scott's demands while covering over as many of his teammates' mistakes as he could.

The students would have gone to the Professor to explain the situation, hoping that the voice of reason coming from the Institute's highest authority figure would help. The Professor, however, troubled by increasingly-frequent calls from Muir Island regarding someone named Lucas, had notified the students that he would be leaving the Institute to visit Moira MacTaggart for at least a month, and that he was only to be contacted in case of extreme emergency.

That had been three months ago, and Scott's behavior had worsened almost daily.

He even refused to take any advice from Ms. Munroe and Mr. McCoy, both of whom he had begun addressing by first name, another self-bestowed privilege of his newly gained adulthood.

The only credit Kurt could give Scott was that he hadn't insisted that the others call him Mr. Summers… yet.

Kurt pulled himself back from his thoughts to find Jean looking at him quizzically. He made a quick check to see that his mental shields were still firmly in place; Jean had been caught head-hopping several times before, and Kurt didn't particularly want her listening in on his thoughts about her now-fiancé.

"_Was_?" he asked after Jean's gaze hadn't wavered for nearly a minute.

"Are you… feeling all right, Kurt?"

"_Ja_, everything's fine, why?"

Jean looked pointedly down, and Kurt then noticed that he'd ploughed his way, unthinking, through three quarters of the loaf. He usually tried to stop at about half so that some would be left for the others.

He quickly twirled the plastic back around what was left of the bread, walked over to the pantry, and deposited it back in its place.

"My bad, Jean. Just not really thinking much this morning," he said, hoping that that would be the end of it. In reality, he was thinking all too much, but he really didn't want to discuss his issues with Miss Perfect.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about… something?" God, when the woman wanted to know something, she certainly didn't take hints well.

"Yes, Jean, I'm **sure**. Thank you for asking," he replied pointedly.

Kurt felt an odd sensation at the very front of his head, almost an itch. Jean was trying to access his prefrontal cortex, or more specifically, read his thoughts.

"Don't do that, _bitte_," he said, trying desperately to be civil with her despite his waning patience.

Jean looked startled, and a second later, the itching subsided.

Kurt grumbled inwardly and wandered over to the fridge, opening it to find nothing to drink. He didn't feel like adding more acid to his stomach with orange juice, and Evan had earmarked both gallons of milk yesterday by drinking out of them. Not that Kurt minded the germs, but he didn't want to encroach on Evan's favorite source of much-needed calcium.

He closed the fridge, crossed the kitchen, and pulled a glass from the cupboard. As he was filling it from the tap, the itch returned, intensifying to a nagging ache.

After he asked her not to, she was not only trying to read his mind, but trying to break through his shields!

Nightcrawler finished filling his glass, gently set it down on the counter, and walked straight over to the stool where Jean was sitting. Bringing his face scant inches from hers, he began to speak in a very soft, very dangerous tone.

"So you **really** want to see what's in here? That's perfectly fine. Let's have a little peek, shall we?"

Grabbing her head in his hands, Kurt summoned up a choice selection from his childhood memories, lowered his mental shields, and projected as loudly as he possibly could.

_Blows rained down on him from all sides, pounding him into the cobblestones, fists and feet striking every exposed inch of him. He curled up in a ball, hiding his bloodied face, screaming into hands with broken fingers._

_Another snap came from one of the stronger kicks, and his scream turned to a whimper. He could barely breathe. _Mutti_, where was _Mutti_? _Vati_? Anyone? He only wanted to look at the toyshop window…_

_His tail was tucked between his legs like a dog's, keeping it more or less out of harm's way. He stroked his stomach with it, trying to mimic how _Mutti_ made him feel better, but it wasn't working. Everything hurt too much, and these people wouldn't stop hitting him._

_Someone grabbed his tail._

_He tried to keep it hugged close to his body, but the hand was much too strong for an eight-year-old to fight. The fist ran down the tail, pulling the fur from the base to just before the tip. His tail was pinned to the ground, and someone shouted._

_CRUNCH._

_His tail._

_Oh _Gott im Himmel_ it hurt so bad, so bad!_

_Had to get away, had to run away from the bad people and find _Mutti_ and _Vati_ and crawl in their bed and be safe, safe…_

_Something stabbed into his back, and he collapsed. This was his chance. He had to play dead; that was the only way to live._

_He didn't dare move. A few more kicks came, and people started walking away. For every handful of people who he heard walking off, at least one kicked him again._

_Two people stayed. They grabbed his feet and dragged him, face scraping along stone, to an alley, where they dropped him. The knife was pulled from his back, and he expected them to leave his body to rot, but instead of footsteps walking away, he heard the men fumbling with belts, heard trousers hit the ground…_

A fist connected with Kurt's nose, bringing him back into the present and sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Scott stood above him, face contorted in impotent rage as Jean sat gasping and whimpering with her head on the cool granite of the counter.

The snap of cartilage Kurt had felt just then was nothing compared to the hell he had been through; he almost laughed at the thought that Scott would believe it had hurt him. He lay on the ground for a moment to collect his thoughts, then pushed his nose back into place and got up to grab some ice and a rag. When he had found what he was looking for, he reached out and brought Jean's head up to meet his eyes, his nose still running with a steady stream of blood.

"The next time you try to do that without my permission, you will know how it feels to be burned at the stake. I promise you this."

With a final smirk at Scott, Nightcrawler disappeared with a sulfurous _bamf_, leaving the two X-Men in a coughing fit.

**Glossary:**

_**Katzenjammer**__: hangover._

_**Weißbrot**__: white bread._

_**Morgen**__: morning._

_**Was**__: what._

_**Ja**__: yes._

_**Bitte**__: please._

_**Mutti**__: Mommy._

_**Vati**__: Daddy._


	3. Control

**AN: **No beta on this one, but I edit my stuff carefully even pre-beta. If you spot an error, send me a message or mention it in the review. Kitty's "airwalking" differs from what you may have seen in the comics because I wanted it to be a developing ability.

**Warnings: **Gloom, doom, angst, alcoholism, violence, sarcastic elves, Scott-bashing, swearing in English and German, random phrases in other languages.

**Disclaimer: **They say you take better care of things you own than things you borrow. Given the way I'm abusing Kurt and the other X-Men, do you really think I own any of them?

**Chapter 3: Control**

In a puff of smoke Kurt reappeared next to his bed, blood still pouring from his nose despite the ice-filled cloth that he was holding there. The acrid brimstone did nothing to help his pain, though that was far from a major concern. His current mental state was a far more pressing matter.

He dropped to his knees on the ground, struggling to corral his memories once more, outwardly showing his distress now that he did not have to maintain his façade.

His tail thrashed about in agitation, and he grabbed hold of it to stroke along its length. It was not broken, not anymore. There were no hands on it but his own, no rough, uncaring hands lifting it up to expose…

_Stop it stop it STOP IT!_

Kurt pressed the makeshift ice pack harder against his nose, grateful at the fresh pain. Pain helped him focus on the present; pain reminded him that he was here, now, safe.

After his panic had subsided and the blood flow was staunched, he reached a hand to the drawer and found the remains of his first bottle of vodka. He finished it off with a vengeance, pulling in gulp after gulp of liquid fire. Back to hollow he went, back to hide himself behind a wall of ethanol. No one and nothing could break through this.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Afternoon saw a thoroughly fortified Nightcrawler suited up and standing outside the Danger Room. His nose was obviously swollen, but it had been set correctly, and the bruises were hidden beneath his fur for the most part. He cast a glance at Scott, the only other person who had arrived so far. Kurt was five minutes early; Scott had been there even before him.

Scott shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable being alone with the mutant whose nose he had broken earlier that day.

"Kurt, about your… I mean… this morning…"

Nightcrawler fixed him with a somewhat bewildered gaze. Was Scott actually trying to apologize? He considered this for a moment, until his cynical side presented the more likely motivation: Kurt's injured nose required an explanation, and it wouldn't do for the other X-Men to find out that their purportedly infallible team leader had lost control and attacked one of his own teammates.

"_Keine Bange_, Scott. I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing you," he muttered, turning away from his supposed superior.

"Now wait a second, Kurt! It's not fair at all to say that!"

Scott's hand landed on Kurt's shoulder. Nightcrawler whirled around and stared up at the taller mutant, cold yellow gaze seeming to bore through the red visor. His tail swished behind him, moving in time with his words.

"Listen, Scott. You're an _Arschloch_. Always have been. I put up with you because for some reason I can't understand, Herr Professor decided that you were the best choice to lead this team. You deserve a swift kick in the ass and some time on the sidelines, but I'm not going to be the one to put you in your place. It'd be a lot of trouble, and I really don't feel like dealing with it right now. So don't push your luck with me, and you get to keep your little fearless leader charade going. Deal?"

Scott puffed out his chest in indignation, and his mouth opened to respond, but no sound escaped. After a few moments of impersonating an angry goldfish, he finally deflated. He said nothing; merely turned away.

Kurt briefly wondered about how much the alcohol in his system was currently affecting him. Would he really have snapped at Cyclops if he had been entirely sober? Granted, Kurt was a very high-functioning drunk, and his motor skills were not at all impaired, but he would have to watch his behavior carefully.

A pair of shapely legs sent the less gentlemanly parts of Kurt's mind wandering to happier places as Shadowcat dropped through the ceiling with impeccable timing. As she approached the ground, she began kicking her legs in the oddly graceful "airwalking" technique she had just recently developed, slowing her descent to land lightly on the floor.

"Like, hey there, guys!" Kitty Pryde exclaimed, perpetually bubbly and full of energy.

Scott nodded to the newcomer and raised a hand in greeting. Kurt murmured some sort of hello and tried to turn away in time to avoid her noticing his injury, but it was too late.

"Oh my God, Fuzzy! Like, what happened there?" she asked, voice filled with concern but keeping her distance physically. She never touched him unless she absolutely had to do so… or unless she was using him as a plush toy to vent her tears over life's unfairness.

Scott opened his mouth to spout some poorly fabricated lie, but Kurt beat him to it with a better one.

"Nothing, Kätzchen. You would think that I know not to teleport right in front of doors as they are opened, but I learn slow, _ja_?"

Kurt cursed inwardly at the thick accent that fumbled its way out of his mouth. For some reason, it always became heavier around Kätzchen. It was perfect, in an ironic sort of way; how better to make himself even less human to her than to have trouble speaking English?

"All right, Fuzzy," she said. "It looks pretty bad, though. Maybe you should, like, have Dr. McCoy look at it or something?"

"It's fine, Kitty. Really. Nothing to worry about."

Kurt was glad at that moment that she never looked straight into his eyes; he had never been very good at hiding lies with anything but his voice.

As if to reinforce this fact, his tail had decided to twist itself into a corkscrew shape, perhaps the best sign of his prevarications. No one currently in the mansion knew him well enough to read his tail, thankfully. Among all the Institute's inhabitants, only Logan and the Professor could interpret the cues it sent out, and neither one of them particularly needed the extra hints.

Of course, Amanda had taken notice of his tail's displays, and had taken advantage of them to read him with uncanny accuracy. She had always known when he was feeling "extra blue," as she always put it…

_Not now!_

"So," Kurt began, then winced as he realized he had spoken a bit too loudly. "So," he said more softly, "What's today's sim?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A little more than an hour later, Kurt was basking in the ultimate irony: Cyclops, a mutant whose destructive optic blasts were restrained entirely by artificial means, was lecturing him on the necessity of developing control of his powers. Nightcrawler, after a grueling session in which he had saved several of his team members from "death," had made a blind teleport under Cyclops' direct orders, and had ended up in the line of fire of three Sentinels. This had led to his "death" and ended the simulation; Scott was unwilling to complete any session in which even a single casualty was sustained, and was itching to launch into another long-winded sermon.

"…All here to learn about what makes us unique and special, and the Professor wants us to develop and control our powers more and more each day. In his absence, it's my duty as team leader, and as a responsible adult, to make sure that you're all following his wishes. If Professor Xavier were here right now, I'm certain he'd be just as disappointed in you as I—"

Kurt could take no more. Seizing Scott's shoulders in his three-fingered hands, he pulled the other downwards until they were eye to eye.

"As team leader, it is your responsibility to know your team's abilities and limitations," Kurt said in a dangerously calm voice. "You ordered me to teleport blindly, with full knowledge of just how unsafe that is. You killed me in a simulation today, Scott. You, personally. No one else." He smirked derisively. "Quite the team leader and responsible adult you are, single-handedly killing one of your own teammates. But that's not the worst-case scenario."

Tightening his grip, the younger mutant lowered his voice.

"By following your order, I could have ended up inside someone else from the team, and the two of us would now be dead. Not in a simulation. In real life. A couple of feet to the left, and Evan and I wouldn't be here. A few to the right, and you'd have murdered me and _Jean_. Chew on that one for a bit."

Nightcrawler's smile curved cruelly, fully showcasing the demonic appearance he had always tried so hard to downplay, as he continued at a volume audible only to him and Scott.

"As for that last part… If Professor Xavier were here right now, you wouldn't be in charge of so much as your own bowel movements. And if this conversation were to continue, and Professor Xavier were to arrive a few minutes from now, he would be wondering how every tooth in your mouth had been teleported to a different spot in the Danger Room. I'm certainly glad this conversation is over now, aren't you?"

To illustrate his final point, Kurt took hold of Scott's right hand and, focusing his power down to minute details, disappeared with the glove. He reappeared a moment later next to Jean, an utterly chilling smile on his face and Scott's glove in his hand.

"I've really got to work on my control," Nightcrawler said, voice dripping with sarcasm, then teleported again, leaving Scott's glove to drop to the ground.

A puff of smoke above their heads caused all the mutants to look up and see Kurt hanging from the ceiling by his feet.

"I think I'm going to go practice very hard so that I don't fail our great leader again. _Ciao, ragazzi_!"

With another _bamf_, he was gone once more.

**Glossary**

_**Keine Bange: **__No worries (German)_

_**Arschloch:**__ Asshole (German)_

_**Ciao, ragazzi:**__Bye, folks (Italian, lit. Bye, kids)_


	4. Extra Blue

**AN:** Thanks as always to Nightcrawler's Shadow for being a great beta and loads of fun, and thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! Eventually I'll be putting some light at the end of the tunnel, as well as explaining the situation with Amanda a bit more and why Kurt is taking it so badly, but I can't do more than hint while Kurt is still trying to escape from thinking about all of that.

**Special Author's Note:** I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the story, but if you don't tell me what you don't like about it, chances are pretty good that you won't see it change anytime soon. Good critiques are even more valuable than positive reviews.

**Warnings:** More of the same, and a more overt reference to rape, still not graphic.

**Disclaimer:** I own a drum set and a camera. Those are my most valuable possessions. Hence, I own no part of the multi-billion-dollar series that is X-Men.

**Chapter 4: Extra Blue**

Darkness dominated the room, fully drawn curtains admitting almost none of the evening's waning light. Immediately following his departure from the Danger Room, Kurt had locked his door, and had so far refused all visitors.

Evan had attempted to congratulate him (through the door) on standing up to Scott, only to find the "K-Man" completely silent where he would normally have been devouring the praise with the air of a born performer.

Jean had come by and demanded that Kurt apologize to Scott, and had been answered with a rather inventive list of places Scott might find that apology, along with an even more creative list of things he might do with it after finding it. The telepath had walked away from the door nearly as red as her hair.

Hours passed silently in the bedroom, at least outwardly. Kurt's mind was a blur of activity; thoughts and feelings and memories whirled about in no semblance of order. Thankfully, finishing off most of the second bottle of vodka had done wonders for his concentration: he was blissfully unable to focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds, rendering him immune to the crushing depression that would have otherwise plagued him. The plastic bottle was back in his drawer now, just a quick reach away from being put to further use.

His sheets were in a jumble, and he had burrowed underneath them sideways across the bed, leaving only his head and tail exposed. The latter swished back and forth lazily, having navigated its way out of the confining linens to seek freedom.

Two golden eyes stared blankly, almost unblinking, the only parts of him that were visible in the darkness; his tail, as with the rest of him, became all but invisible in the absence of light.

A ponytail-bearing head with angelic features slowly peeked its way in through the door, and Kurt sighed. Kätzchen was here. As glad as he was that it was Kitty and not someone else, he really wasn't in the mood for company, even hers.

"Kurt? Are you in here? I just wanted to say you really shouldn't worry about Scott. He's, like, being a total jerk lately, and I'm glad you told him off. I was, like, this close to doing it myself."

Despite himself, Kurt smiled a bit. The image of Kitty, who barely came up to his chin, standing toe to toe with Cyclops, who towered over him, was priceless.

Shadowcat phased fully through the door, every bit as silent and graceful as her codename implied, and wasted no time sitting on the bed, right next to Kurt but not touching him. There was never any sort of casual contact between them; she saw to that. No one on the team touched him, really, but Kätzchen seemed especially good at avoiding it.

In America, it seemed, no one was particularly interested in touching a blue, furry demon. In Germany, however, there had been some who were all too eager…

_Kurt sobbed in terror and rage as two men held him down while another tore away the ragged remains of his pants._

_He was bloodied and bruised, but they hadn't broken any of his bones… so far. Given their intent, however, Kurt found himself wishing for the simple beatings of the usual mobs. A broken bone healed faster than what they were going to do to him._

_He knew it was going to happen again. And he knew that no matter what he did, how he fought or screamed or pleaded, nothing would stop them._

_Some oddly objective part of him wondered how many months it would be this time before he could let Mutti or Vati hold him again without screaming._

_As one man began pulling Kurt's hips up and back, a last "bitte nicht" escaped from his mouth, every bit as futile as the prayers he and Mutti said each night to keep him safe…_

"Fuzzy?"

Kurt opened his eyes to find Kätzchen kneeling in front of him, beautiful blue eyes staring at him in concern. She was finally looking him in the eye… but why now, why now of all possible times?

"_Ja_?" He managed to croak out, still shaky from the memory.

"Are you all right, Fuzzy? You seem a little blue." Catching the irony in her own comment, Kitty looked away, flustered. "Well, like, not that you're not blue all the time, but, like, y'know, more so than usual. Extra blue."

_Extra blue._

With those two words, Kurt's mind instantly became a minefield in a tornado. Memories swirled around, mixing in unthinkable combinations.

_Amanda raised the bloodied knife again, smiling sweetly as she said, "Did you know blue is my favorite color?"_

_The rosary-wrapped fist connected with his jaw, cutting off his attempt to speak. "You're so beautiful, Kurt. You could never be a demon."_

_Flames licked at his feet, so terribly hot, but they did not seem to burn him nearly so much as the gazes of the villagers who were watching him die as they chanted, "I love you… Always."_

_Amanda lay at his side, naked and beautiful in the light of early morning, hand drawing gentle circles on his chest as she whispered in his ear,_ "Ungeheuer. Missgebildet. Unheilig. Teufel."

A strangled sob came unbidden to Kurt's throat, and he tried desperately to burrow into his sheets.

He felt a hand upon his back, touching him through the sheets, and he thrashed about in an attempt to escape it, whimpering, "_Lassen Sie mich! Ich bin keine Teufel!_"

"Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong?" Kitty's voice came to his ears, bringing him a bit closer to reality, but it did nothing for the pain. He had to get her out; he couldn't let her see him like this, couldn't let her see him weak.

"Bitte, Kätzchen, please go. Please. _Ich kann nicht_… I… I need you to go now."

Kurt felt Kitty stiffen next to him, then rise off the bed.

"All right, Fuzzy. I don't know what's wrong, but if you're sure you want me not to be here…"

Had his heart not been completely occupied with gushing out anguish by the gallon, it would surely have melted at the hurt in her voice. He was hurting Kätzchen.

"I am sorry, Kitty. I wish… I just need to be alone. Please. It's not you… I… just…" Kurt made a frustrated sound and slammed his head into the bed.

Her weight lifted off of the bed, and soft footsteps headed for the door. It never opened, but the footsteps retreated farther and farther away nonetheless.

She was gone.

Kurt buried his face in the bed, biting his lip till the blood flowed again, trying to regain control of his own thoughts.

Respite did not come for hours.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The telltale rumble of a familiar motorcycle brought Kurt back to wakefulness. It was just past midnight.

His tail twitched idly, still wrapped around the bottle that had found its way out of the drawer and up to his lips. Kurt took a farewell swig and quickly capped it, putting it as deep into the drawer as it would go. The last thing he needed was the Wolverine walking in and finding him with alcohol.

With a creak of protest, the large double doors opened. Scott never saw fit to take care of anything about the mansion outside of the extensive and often obsessive list of chores he had composed.

Kurt's sensitive ears picked up footsteps stopping at the room at the end of the hall, followed by a quick_ snikt_ and a few pieces of metal being sheared away. Logan was removing the extra locks he had placed on his room to keep out snoopers.

The door opened and closed, and a few minutes later, Logan came out and began walking down the hall, sniffing with every step and at every door. Wolverine was making his rounds, as always.

He stopped in front of Kurt's door, sniffing for longer than usual. The knob turned just slightly before it was stopped by the lock. Kurt froze, trying not to breathe.

"Elf, give it up," Wolverine growled, voice muffled slightly by the door but still audible to Kurt. "I can hear your tail moving, and you're not asleep. I can smell what's going on from all the way out here."

Logan sighed. "I ain't gonna ask why, I ain't gonna ask how long. Not my business. But you've got twenty-four hours to cut it out, and if I smell it on you after that, you do rehab my way. You don't want that. Got it?"

Kurt was dumbstruck. He scrambled to think of some excuse, some way out of the situation, but Logan had him cold.

"_Jawohl_," he replied finally, dropping his head and tail back onto the bed in defeat.

"Good. Now get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow's gonna come earlier than anybody here's expecting."

Booted feet continued down the hall, and the sniffing resumed. Kurt burrowed into his bed and hoped that he would wake in the morning to find this had been a dream.

**Glossary**

_**Ungeheuer**__: Monster/monstrous._

_**Missgebildet**__: Misshapen._

_**Unheilig**__: Unholy._

_**Teufel**__: Devil._

_**Lassen Sie mich! Ich bin keine Teufel!**__: Let me go! I'm not a demon/devil!_

_**Ich kann nicht…**__: I can't…_

_**Jawohl**__: Yes, sir._

**If anyone who speaks German finds an error in here, please let me know. I've tried my best, but I would prefer not to mangle such an interesting language.**


	5. Wakeup Call

**AN: **I'm busy with school and a job, as well as caring for someone with a broken leg, so these updates will be coming less frequently; I'm not willing to sacrifice the quality of the story for faster updates. In the meantime, you should know that Nightcrawler's Shadow is awesome. Go read her stuff. My other faithful reviewers who don't happen to be my beta deserve hugs and thanks as well, and quite a few have written stories that I encourage you to read.

While I enjoy positive reviews, I absolutely treasure good critiques. As much as I've enjoyed the friendly response to my writing, taking the time to actually evaluate the story shows you enjoyed it beyond the ten seconds it takes to say "I loved it please update soon." In fact, I'm going to try out a new policy: despite my lack of time at the moment, I will do my very best to respond personally and individually (eventually) to every review I get, and reviewers who take the extra time to give at least a somewhat thorough evaluation will have their own stories evaluated in turn.

This story will be getting a bit lighter, but at the same time, perhaps not. Kurt is swapping his addiction to alcohol for an addiction to… well, you'll see.

**Warnings: **Beyond this place there be bad things. Seriously. I'm tired of trying to put aside my jaded nature and warn about every little thing that might offend, so just assume that there's probably something here to shock you if you're sensitive.

**Disclaimer Haiku: **

Kurt and the X-Men

Priced beyond my humble means

I own them not.

**Chapter 5: Wakeup Call  
**

_Snikt_.

Sharp metal pressed against Kurt's throat. It was warm, which meant that—

"If I were one of the bad guys, you'd be dead. Keep that in mind while you're suiting up. Danger Room in five minutes, and don't think I'm gonna go easy on you cause of a hangover."

Yup. Extremely pointy metal things at body temperature generally suggested that Logan was involved. Two thoughts crossed Kurt's mind: first, last night hadn't been a dream; and second, today was going to suck.

"…Time's it?" he mumbled grumpily.

Logan's claws pulled away from Kurt's neck as he replied, "Not quite four." If Kurt didn't know any better, he would have said that Logan sounded almost chipper. Evil old badger.

The door closed, and Kurt was alone again. He wanted nothing more than to burrow back into his bed and tell Wolverine to relocate his training session to someplace with very little solar exposure…

On second thought, he realized he did want something more than that: he wanted to stay alive. And so it was that Kurt Wagner, the Incredible Nightcrawler, ignominiously crawled his incredibly hung-over self out of bed and began dressing for the Danger Room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Three minutes, twenty seconds, and four very long and inventive combinations of cursing in every language he knew later, Kurt appeared outside of the Danger Room, tail still refusing to feed itself through the hole in his uniform. The troublesome appendage thrashed about, seemingly ready to tear its way out of the fabric that held it captive.

He let out a growl of frustration and pain; the muscles in his tail were cramping, and nothing was working to get it free.

A decidedly feminine giggle behind him silenced his protests.

Before he could turn around to see who was laughing, nimble fingers had found their way through the tail hole, incidentally rubbing his fur in a way that made everything more tolerable. The tip of his tail went towards the fingers out of instinct, and was rewarded with a gentle pinch that allowed his benefactor to lead it out into freedom. With the hand's blessed work complete, fingertips stroked upwards along the length of his tail, brushing against the grain of his fur till they reached the base, where the whole hand then wrapped around it and stroked down.

The effect was… _unglaublich_.

His odd hissing intake of breath, followed by the immediate reversal of the airflow, made for an interesting sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan. It obviously entertained the owner of that magical hand as well; another giggle reached his ears, and he turned to meet a pair of stunning blue eyes.

"Y'know, Blue," Tabitha Smith remarked with a smirk, "You make the cutest noises when you're grumpy, but I think I like that last sound even better."

_Gott im Himmel_. Of all the people to learn how sensitive his tail was, it had to be Tabby. There was no telling how she would abuse that particular bit of information…

And why was that not seeming like a terrible thing?

Kurt's tail started stretching involuntarily towards Boom Boom's hand, presenting itself for more stroking, and he caught it with a tridactyl hand, face turning to a dark purple as he took control of his recalcitrant extra limb. Well… at least one of them. He prayed that Tabby would not look down and notice that not all of the diverted blood had been directed to his face.

Of course, being Tabby, she was all too aware of the reaction she was causing in her teammate. In fact, by all appearances, she was enjoying it immensely. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, lips brushing against the extra-sensitive guard hairs.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, Blue, and I've got some interesting things we could try with your tail. I promise you'll like them almost as much as I will."

As Kurt's mind rushed to consider the possibilities promised by that particular remark, he was struck by an unrelated epiphany: the combination of a hangover and extreme arousal was unfamiliar and decidedly painful. Blood was pumping through his body hard and fast, and each pulse worsened his already splitting headache to the point of agony.

Clutching his head, he moaned and teleported away, returning a few seconds later dripping cold water from his entire head. The benefits of his impromptu cold shower arrived a few moments later as he felt the throbbing from both antagonists lessen. Tabitha cocked her head and quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing for the moment.

"Since when are you early for one of these, Boom Boom?" Kurt asked after a period of silence that was beyond uncomfortable. "You're usually here ten minutes late at least."

The blonde shrugged. "Badger Man figured that out and told me it was in five. That was fifteen minutes ago, and my ass is too pretty to be wasted walking upstairs again."

Kurt had absolutely no idea how to respond to the latter comment; it was certainly an attractive backside, but he didn't want to let on— any more than he already had— the effect that Tabby had always had on him. If he let that slip, who knew what sort of troubles she might drag him through as he chased after her kisses?

And damn it all, why was part of him so eager to find out?

The sounds of dozens of pounding feet and roaring approached. It seemed that the rest of the students had gotten a mass wakeup call from the Wolverine. Kurt couldn't help but smile as he watched Scott and Jean leading for the first time in three months— leading the rush to get away from a man who stood an entire head shorter than Kurt.

Still, in their defense, Logan certainly wasn't someone you wanted chasing you at four in the morning, especially when you had believed that he was gone indefinitely.

As the space around Kurt and Tabby began to get more crowded, Wolverine came into view. Both sets of claws were out and glinting in the fluorescent lighting, and in his hands were two versions of Jamie Madrox, each hanging by one booted foot, heads bobbing a scant inch from the ground. Apparently the youngest of the New Mutants hadn't been running fast enough for Logan.

The Wolverine came to a stop a few feet from his students, who were for the most part huddled against the Danger Room door. He opened his hands and retracted his claws, dropping Jamie on his head and forming another four duplicates in the process.

"You kids have been getting soft while I've been gone," Logan growled. "I dunno what kind of cheesy sunshine-and-flowers sims Scooter's been running for you lately, but that little mosey down here wasn't even a hard jog. Took you forever and a half to even suit up. Today you're gonna get back to real training."

A series of groans and protests began to arise from the assembled population, until Wolverine's claws resurfaced and silenced them almost instantly.

"The more you whine, the harder I run you. Whining means you ain't out of breath yet. Staring stone-faced at the mutants before him, he began to lay out instructions. "When this door opens, you'll be walking straight into danger. Your job is to stay alive and keep your teammates alive for five minutes. This ain't gonna be as easy as it sounds." Shifting his glance to Cyclops, who stood just short of cowering against the door, he continued. "Something tells me Slim's been forgetting to balance your training out. So this time, you're all going through this with no powers. If I catch you using your powers anyway, I'll decide you're a slow learner and teach you personally. That is _not_ a good thing. Understood?"

There was murmured assent, and Logan crossed his arms after retracting his claws. "All right. Let's see how much work I've got ahead of me getting you kids back into some kind of shape. Elf, if you're done with that shower, I'm gonna need a ride up to the observation room."

Kurt sighed and walked up to the shorter man. One hand went to Logan's shoulder, and the two disappeared, reappearing in the room that housed the Danger Room's controls. Before the cloud of smoke even began to dissipate, Kurt dropped to one knee, clutching his head as water dripped between his fingers. Vertical teleports were always much harder on him, and to make one with a hangover was torture.

"Get up, Elf," the voice above him said. With a groan, Kurt managed to stand. Something was pressed into his right hand, something small and oblong. He glanced at it.

_A vitamin_?

"Herr Logan, I don't quite understand…"

"Multivitamin. Best hangover cure when you're on the run. Won't work right away and won't take care of everything, but you won't feel like complete shit."

A slow realization began to cross Kurt's features. The personal wakeup, however rough, had given him a bit more time to prepare for the training session, and now he was being given a bit of relief from his hangover. Coming from Logan, these small kindnesses were enormous.

"Herr Logan, why—"

"Ain't good at talking, Elf. Really ain't good at feelings and shit like that. But I know what it's like to hop into a bottle and not wanna come out." His eyes were unfocused, distant.

Kurt had never heard him discuss anything so personal; for the gruff Canadian, these admissions were roughly equivalent to baring his soul.

Logan shifted uncomfortably before reverting to the Wolverine. "Now swallow that and get your fuzzy ass back down to the team. And if you ever tell _anybody_ about this, I'll have a blue pelt hanging on my wall. Got it?"

"_Jawohl_." Kurt popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed it dry. He glanced back at his instructor, unsure of himself. "And… thank you, Herr Logan. Really."

Nightcrawler teleported away to save Wolverine the need to reply, popping into the hallway a short distance from the Danger Room, far enough away that he knew no students would be in his path. He made his way back to the group just as the doors slid open. With a deep breath, Kurt prepared himself for hell.


	6. An Exercise in Survival

**AN: **Not much to say here, apart from that I will be releasing without a beta for the time being. I appreciate any and all corrections by those of you who feel so inclined. I am also sticking to my pledge to respond personally to every review I get; the more thorough the review, the longer my response. Good critiques are beyond treasured.

**Disclaimer: **Grunt grunt, me no have rights to X-Men, me no have nothing, me no have grasp of English talk thing. Me stop now. Head hurt from write.

**Chapter 6: An Exercise in Survival**

Kurt was barely staying alive.

As simulations went, this one was by no means as ridiculous as some of the ones Scott had put his teammates through; still, the restrictions on his powers made this exercise pure hell. Nightcrawler was already sporting a layer of bruises across his entire body, as well as a few gashes that were just short of requiring stitches. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that Logan liked to add elements of real danger into the simulations— until a few minutes ago.

Ray was lying on the floor in a heap, the first of the students to be knocked unconscious, and Bobby and Jubilee were crumpled side by side where each had tried in vain to save the other.

In true minimalist style, Logan had turned the sparse landscape of the Danger Room into a scene fit for nightmares. The garish overhead lights flickered on and off, keeping anyone's eyes from adjusting to either extreme, while the roar of some kind of machinery drowned out all but the loudest shouts. A few large cargo containers were the only cover the students had from the whirling claws, the tentacles that sought them out wherever they ran.

The X-Men were in trouble.

"TWO MINUTES REMAIN," a pleasant female voice announced, utterly incongruous with the hellish situation. Kurt looked around to see who was still holding out.

Spyke was managing to dodge most of the attacks directed at him, and had shepherded Amara and Rahne close to him so that he could keep an eye on them. Still, the strain of protecting three people at once was beginning to wear on him; no longer could he dodge with the agility he had had just minutes ago. A three-pronged attack by the tentacles put him out of commission with a blow to the side of the head, and the two younger and more inexperienced students quickly fell into a trap laid by cannon fire. Both landed heavily, twitching as their bodies tried to process the electric shock.

All things considered, Kitty and Rogue were fending quite well for themselves; forming an impromptu partnership, they guarded one another fiercely, leapfrogging and using each other to counterbalance for otherwise impossible dodges. Kurt fought back a smile and tried to remain focused on those who truly needed his help. Those girls would be fine.

After a few hits had spawned multiples, the Danger Room's AI had learned about the involuntary nature of Jamie's mutation, and so it had thus far refrained from attacking him further. A single tendril hovered over him, menacing him and keeping him isolated from the group, until it came up with a solution.

A muffled cry came from Jamie as he was lifted into the air by a tentacle wrapping around his chest and throat. Kurt, seeing the youngest member of his team in danger, sprang forward with a growl bordering on feral. He ran on all fours and leapt high into the air, catching Jamie's boot and causing the metal tentacle to drop back to the ground under the unexpected weight. Seizing the opportunity, Nightcrawler tried with all his strength to unwrap the length of machinery that was choking Jamie, but to no avail. He watched helplessly as the boy who had barely reached his teen years rolled up his eyes and went limp.

As Jamie sank to the floor, the tentacle immediately released its hold, uncoiling itself and taking Kurt with it in a violent arc. A few more revolutions dislodged his grip, and he went flying into the side of a cargo container, denting it with the impact.

Kurt's head swam and he couldn't seem to draw a breath, but he fought to stay conscious. There had to be some way to ride this out, some way to keep at least the younger students safe…

Golden eyes fell upon the door to the cargo container. It was locked, but if he could get it open, some of them could take cover inside.

He tried to shout, but his attempt only produced a fit of coughing. Dropping to one knee and bracing himself on his fist, he began banging on the side of the container, hoping the noise would draw his teammates' attention.

Jean, standing nearby, was the first to notice, and Scott immediately turned to look at the container even though he was too far away to have possibly heard the pounding. It seemed Jean was using her powers, but only to help out her fiancé. That made sense; she always saw herself as above the rules, and Scott would deny any wrongdoing on her part until hell froze and thawed twice.

Shadowcat and Rogue began weaving their way over, dancing about and evading a hail of beanbag rounds shooting from the cannons at nearly bone-breaking velocity. The pair reached him just after Jean.

"Quick, your hair pins!" Kurt shouted to Kitty.

The brunette reached up to her hair and pulled the pins out, handing them over as her bangs fell into her eyes. She had recently taken to wearing all of her hair back, and Kurt was secretly glad to see the bangs again.

Nightcrawler immediately set to picking the padlock on the door with a dexterity that belied his three-fingered hands. In a matter of seconds, the lock clicked open, and he set to working the two heavy latches that held the door closed.

As the doors creaked open, Kurt and the others began shouting for anyone still conscious to get inside. Jean entered the container, and Kitty and Rogue took shelter behind the relative safety of the open door. Scott came running as soon as he saw the door opening, and in doing so left Sam's back uncovered. Cannonball was soon hoisted into the air by a claw and thrown back down to the ground with enough force to make him skid several feet upon landing. He did not get up.

Roberto dove into the container and collapsed to the cold steel floor, wheezing with exhaustion. Kitty knelt down to check his injuries, thankfully finding nothing serious.

Cyclops was approaching, but Kurt saw one of the cannons drawing a bead on the team leader; Scott wasn't weaving or dodging at all, which made him an easy target. Nightcrawler began bounding out to tackle him down to safety as a beanbag flew straight for Scott's head. But at the last second, the beanbag made an erratic turn, curving off to smack against the side of another cargo container.

Nightcrawler looked back at Jean, who fixed him with a supercilious smile. She was cheating, and she knew he knew. But would he dare to call her on it? With a growl, Kurt bounded back towards the container as the voice announced the start of the final minute.

Scott made it into the container before Kurt, and began shutting the door. A solid kick to the codpiece from Rogue and a knee to the face from Kitty meant that an unconscious Cyclops left the door ajar for Kurt to enter. As he approached the container, however, he noticed a set of tentacles wriggling their way towards the opening, and so he threw himself against the door and barred it, ignoring the protests from the other side.

The tentacles, seemingly angered at having lost the majority of their prey, began racing after Kurt. He leapt and grabbed the top of the container, and pulled himself up to better survey how he was going to survive the remaining forty seconds of the simulation.

A scream from the far corner of the Danger Room altered his plans considerably.

Tabitha was huddled in the corner, tears leaving long black streaks of mascara down her face. Around her, a trio mobile turrets was closing in, all escape routes long since cut off. They were moving in for a guaranteed elimination.

Leaping from container to container, Kurt rushed to aid Tabitha, praying that he got to her in time.

"THIRTY SECONDS REMAIN."

The turrets stopped at a distance of no more than ten feet from the terrified girl; a shot from any of those cannons would be sure to cause serious damage. And they were all aiming directly for her head.

Nightcrawler gave a defiant shout and hurled himself off of the final container, landing on top of Tabitha.

Three beanbags slammed into the space where Boom-Boom's head had been just fractions of a second earlier. The blonde looked up at Kurt, eyes now shining with tears of gratitude.

"Y'know, Blue," she said in a quavering voice, "That's kind of a dramatic way to say you want to be on top, but I don't mind. Really."

"TWENTY SECONDS REMAIN."

The announcer's voice brought Kurt back to a harsh realization: the turrets were all realigning to point downward. Shoving Tabby roughly into the corner, he shielded her as best he could with his own body.

Moments later, his world became pure pain.

Three cannons bombarded him mercilessly, bags slamming into him, beating out an evil tattoo. He would have screamed if he could have; only a pained gurgling gasp would escape.

"TEN."

He had to hold on.

"NINE."

It would be over soon.

"EIGHT."

Oh _Gott_ it hurt so much!

"SEVEN."

Just… a bit… longer…

"SIX."

Black descended.


	7. Massage

**AN: **No beta, as usual. Feel free to point out errors. And as usual, I'll respond personally to any and all reviews. Good critiques are absolutely essential to the progression of this story, so please keep them coming.

**WARNING: **This chapter, while censored somewhat, has much more "**ADULT CONTENT**" than you're used to seeing from me. Lots of language, though no F-bombs anymore, and some **very racy goings-on** later in the chapter, bordering on explicit. If you're uncomfortable with either, please don't read. The story has now been switched to M because of the content in this and future chapters. **If you think I've overstepped even an M rating, please don't report this story.** Tell me, and I'll change it. I've spent a lot of time on this, and I would really hate to lose it. I've begun cross-posting this story on , and once I redo the formatting for all the chapters and have it up to the current chapter, I'll post the link inside this story. That will be my uncensored version, while this one will have minor changes to make sure it remains accessible to somewhat younger readers.

**Chapter 7: Massage**

"Get up, Elf."

That voice was never good.

Kurt cracked his eyes open to find himself staring at a pile of his own vomit. The fur on his face was caked with it as well. It felt disgusting, the extra insult to top off the injuries from the cannons' barrage.

"Come on, up. Ain't waiting around all day for you to have naptime."

With a groan, Kurt braced his hands against the ground and began to push up…

And fell back down, writhing on the cold floor as his severely bruised abdominal muscles began to spasm in protest. He counted himself lucky that the turrets hadn't aimed for his face, and hoped he hadn't cracked any ribs.

A gentle pair of hands on his shoulders stilled him, and as they looped under his arms and lifted, he was extremely grateful. Kurt was certain he would never have been able to make it to his feet alone; even now, he was leaning heavily on his benefactor, one arm wrapped around her shoulder.

Tabby looked over at him, smiling as she put her hand around his hips to give him extra stability. She had tried to wipe away the evidence of her tears, but had only succeeded in leaving little black streaks across her face like badly applied war paint. It was oddly cute.

The sight of Logan, however, was very much not cute. He was striding around, roughly pulling the recruits who were just regaining consciousness to their feet. Jamie took a flying tumble and wound up dazed on the floor again, staring at a multiple on either side of him.

When all the students were standing, Wolverine began to speak.

"What in the hell was that?" he snarled. "Crispy, you went lights out thirty seconds in! Ice Cube, Sparky, you spent so much time trying to protect each other that you didn't look out for yourselves!"

Angry at being lectured, Ray crossed over to face Logan, looming over the older man. "Hey, now hold on a second, man! This was a bullshit exercise and you know it! You can't just expect us to wake up at the asscrack of dawn and jump around with no powers like we're a bunch of goddamn lab rats!"

Logan stared back at him, unfazed. "Bullshit? This is life, bub. Or did you forget this place has already been attacked, blown up, and shot to hell half a dozen times?"

Berzerker snorted. "Whatever, old man. I'm going back to bed." As he walked past Logan, he moved to shoulder the smaller mutant aside.

That was a mistake.

In a flash, Wolverine had Ray in a chokehold, legs splayed out and made useless by a perfectly placed blow to a nerve cluster. Berzerker was being choked by his own weight.

"I could kill you like this, bub. And this is just a simple hold. I know at least three different ways to get out of it. Do you know any of 'em?"

Sputtering and choking, Ray struggled in vain to free himself. At least the headstrong mutant knew enough not to electrocute Logan; that would be inviting pain beyond belief.

Suddenly, Logan released his grip, leaving Berzerker to drop on the floor, both legs sprawled out in front of him.

The silence was broken only by Ray's shuddering gasps for air.

"Half-Pint and Stripes had the right idea, covering each other and sticking close. That's how you survive. You watch each other's backs, and you watch yourself."

Logan strode over to Cyclops. "For a prime example of how to screw that up royally, take your so-called team leader here. Scooter, the second you saw cover, you ran for it, and when you did, you left your teammate out in the rain. You didn't even _tell_ him about the container, for Christ's sake! And you're supposed to be in charge of leading these kids? No wonder your own teammates knocked you out; if you pulled that shit with me in a real combat situation, I'd frag you myself."

Kurt and Tabitha were next to be fixed with Wolverine's gaze. "Firecracker, you froze. In the real world, that gets you killed. Chances are pretty good there won't be a little blue elf around to take the bullets for you."

Boom-Boom's head lowered in shame, and Kurt could see her fighting back more tears. She was usually so strong; why did this have her upset to the point of crying?

"Elf, you acted most like a leader out of anybody here. You thought it all through and found a way to keep your teammates safe. But for the love of God, leave the martyr business to someone who can walk away from it afterward. And if you're gonna be dumb and play hero anyway, use your back, not your gut."

A wince was all Kurt could manage when he tried to respond verbally; he settled for a nod. Useful advice, if a bit late. He leaned a bit more heavily on Tabby and hoped that Logan would be done soon. His body felt like a mass of throbbing bruises, and even standing was extremely painful.

"One last thing: Red, come over here."

Jean walked over to Logan, and he whipped something thin and black from behind his back and latched it around her neck. Jean's eyes bulged, a keening noise coming from her wide-open mouth.

"Some coincidences, I can overlook. Shades might have just gotten lucky and looked over at the container. Not likely, but possible. But I know for a fact that those cannons don't shoot curveballs." He gave her a grim smile. "You're supposed to be pretty bright, Red, but it looks to me like you're a real slow learner. I said no powers, and I meant it."

Clutching her head, Jean began to sob at the sudden deprivation of her telepathy.

"Collar comes off when I think you've learned your lesson." With this, Wolverine walked away from her and addressed the rest of the students.

"This was a wakeup call for all of you." Logan said. "Vacation's over. From now on you do real training. Now everybody get your asses out of here, except Firecracker and the Elf. They're gonna clean up his mess."

Defeated, the mass of students filed out, Scott consoling Jean as best he could, Logan bringing up the back of the pack to be sure everyone exited. When they were alone, Tabby turned to face Kurt.

"Uh, Blue?" she began, "I kind of want to… well, thank you for what you did back there. I mean, god, that must have hurt like hell." She shifted, pulling at the back of her hair with the thumb and forefinger of her free hand. "Look, you just go ahead and pop up to your room so you can clean up. I'm gonna finish up here, and then I want to come up and visit you. Just so I can take care of you a little bit, y'know?"

Kurt murmured his thanks, releasing Tabby and teleporting straight to his room, where he collapsed facedown on his bed.

Vertical teleports were always more taxing on Kurt's energy reserves, but it was still far better than having to crawl upstairs with the bruises. And he most certainly would have had to crawl; there was no way he could possibly walk at the moment.

Rolling his way off of the bed, he began scooting on his back towards the bathroom, thankful that the professor had seen fit to give the older students their own private bathrooms when the mansion had been rebuilt. The one thing Kurt despised most of all was pity, and anyone who saw him in this position would do nothing but pity him.

Kurt didn't bother to lock the bathroom door; he had recently taken to keeping his bedroom door locked and teleporting in and out to keep any snoopers from invading his privacy. The only person who could easily circumvent that was Kätzchen, and Kurt trusted her not to enter his room when he wasn't around.

Taking hold of the edge of the tub, Kurt managed to hoist himself to his feet. The tiled walls supported him as he climbed in, and held him upright when he leaned against them. Still, when he reached for the faucet, he fell to his knees as another wave of spasms wracked his stomach. He sighed. At least his showerhead was removable.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Half an hour later, Kurt emerged from his bathroom, wrapped only in a towel. His fur was still damp, as usual; he never could dry off all the way without a long stay under a blow dryer. His sheets could dry him the rest of the way.

Climbing into his bed, he pulled off the towel and slid gingerly under the covers, glad that he could go back to sleep for at least a few hours before starting his Sunday morning.

As he began settling in to sleep, his hand stretched out and touched something warm, which snuggled in closer in response.

Then a hand began stroking back and forth along his tail.

Jerking back to wakefulness, he looked over to see who had invaded his bed, and found blond hair and sparkling blue eyes peeking out from under his covers.

"Tabby? What are you—"

"Shhh!" The tip of a finger pressed itself to his lips. "I _told_ you I'd be coming by, Blue. I waited, but you were taking a while, so I just hopped in here and took a little nap."

"How did you even get _in_?" he whispered back.

The blue eyes got a mischievous twinkle. "You're not the only one who knows how to pick a lock."

Kurt relaxed, not wanting to argue further. He lay back and closed his eyes, comforted somewhat by another presence in his bed.

"Kurt?"

He opened his eyes. "You know, I think that's one of the first times I've heard you use my real name."

"Yeah, I… don't like using 'em. One more way to keep from getting attached, I guess. I don't think about it much anymore, really. It just happens."

"I can understand that."

"And about this morning… I want to thank you again."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"No, seriously. I saw the turrets coming and I just… froze. I couldn't move at all. I was _so_ scared. And it was like you came out of nowhere to save me. You even let them shoot you to keep me safe. Nobody's ever cared about me like that." She took a shuddering breath, eyes glistening with tears. "I know I keep saying this, but… thank you, Blue. So much."

He gave her a rueful grin. "I would say anytime, but I would really prefer not to repeat that in the near future. Pencil it in for no earlier than, say, next Friday?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Yeah, sure thing," she said. Her hand resumed its lazy stroking of his tail.

Kurt lay back, a peaceful smile on his face. Then he gasped as he felt the fingers of Tabby's other hand begin running along his thigh.

"You sleep in the buff, Blue? Good to know." She let out a giggle at his obvious discomfort. "Don't worry. I know my boundaries. I won't do anything to make your girlie _too_ jealous. What's her name again? Amy? Aman—"

"Don't even mention that name!" he growled, then stiffened. He hadn't meant to snap; Tabby didn't deserve to be treated like that. Why was he always hurting everyone important to him?

Shocked, Tabitha pulled back for a moment, hurt in her eyes. "What's wrong, Blue? What…" Her tone shifted abruptly. "Oh my God, she did, didn't she?" Little bunches formed in the covers where she was clenching her fists. "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

"No, Tabitha," he said, grabbing her hand. "Just… let it go. Please? I don't want to think about it, about her. Just… not right now, okay?"

"Oh, Blue… I'm so, so sorry. I wish I had said something, but you seemed so happy and I didn't want to ruin that."

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that was closer to a bark or a cough than any sort of mirth. "_Ja_, I was."

Tabby shifted, bringing herself up and out of the covers. She was wearing panties and an oversized T-shirt for some punk band. "Let me to take your mind off of all that, Blue. Flip over and I'll give you a nice massage."

"But I'm—"

"Naked? Yeah, I know. It's fine. Don't you want a full body massage?"

With a groan that was half pain and half nervousness, Kurt turned to lie facedown. His tail began thrashing uneasily when Tabby straddled him, but she just laughed.

"Relax, Blue. This is how I give massages. Easier to put pressure on the right spots this way."

With some effort, his tail stilled to a gentle swishing, and Boom-Boom went to work.

Kurt had gotten some idea of how skilled her hands were from her previous attention to his tail; this, though, was mind-blowing. Her hands pressed into just the right spots in his back, delivering a mix of mild pain and overwhelming relief. She even managed to be mindful of the grain of his fur. Despite his best efforts, he failed to contain a moan that made his entire pillow vibrate.

Tabby giggled again. _Gott_, she had no idea how cute that was. Encouraged by the sounds he was making, she redoubled her efforts, adding in light scratches with her fingernails.

Kurt Wagner had died and gone to a heaven beyond imagination.

Minutes passed by, or maybe hours. He never wanted this feeling to stop. Her hands caressed his shoulders, his neck, his sides…

Another giggle came from Tabby, and her fingers stilled. He let out a sound of protest, and she laughed outright.

"Looks like someone _really_ likes this."

Kurt looked over his shoulder at her, confused, until she looked down pointedly. His tail had wrapped itself around her waist without him realizing it, and still more embarrassing, he had begun gently gyrating his hips.

"_Ich bin traurig_, sorry, Tabby, I didn't realize—"

"Don't worry, Blue. I kinda like having the tail there. But you're gonna have to let go for the next part."

Once he had obliged, she turned around and, pushing the covers back, scooted down and began massaging his legs.

Massaging one leg at a time, she moved from his thighs to his calves, kneading away weeks of tension in minutes. She seemed to have no trouble adapting her techniques to his digigrade legs; she even massaged just above and below his elongated Achilles' tendon.

When she moved to his feet, his entire body shivered. No one, not even Amanda, had ever given his feet such careful attention. And it felt absolutely wonderful. Blessed pressure, little scratches that made his feet twitch involuntarily and return for more; it was the most exquisite torture Kurt had ever experienced.

She shifted her weight again, returning to straddle him facing forward from a somewhat lower position, and her hands took up kneading his lower back, just above his buttocks. As he began moaning more, her hands became bolder, and one began stroking his tail as the other ran along his iliac crest, slipping under him when his hips bucked involuntarily. Her fingers began closing around…

"Tabby, wait! What are you doing?" he asked, part of him protesting the nature of her ministrations but a larger part hoping she would continue.

"This is called a happy ending, Blue," Tabby whispered in his ear, voice low and husky now. That voice reduced his self-control to mere tatters. "I want to do this for you, but I won't if you say no. Do you want it, Kurt?"

Hearing her say his name tore away the last shred of resistance.

"_Ja_, oh _Gott, bitte_, Tabitha, please!"

"I love the way you say my name— Tabissa. It's so cute and sexy at the same time. Say it one more time for me."

"Please, Tabitha, I want…" His pleading dissolved into incoherent moans and growls as she went to work with a vengeance.

Her hands were everywhere at once, it seemed; stroking, scratching, rubbing, just the right touch for every area. He felt heat and pressure building inside him, and began thrusting until he lost himself in a burst of electricity that radiated out through his whole body.

Gasping, he fell forward onto his bed, not caring about the mess that would undoubtedly find its way onto his fur. Another shower was a small price for… that.

Tabby let out a contented sigh and lay on top of him, hands resting on top of his in a sort of embrace.

"Mmmm… now _that_ was fun," she whispered in his ear. "Do it again sometime soon?"

"_Ja_," was all he could manage between gasps.

"Perfect. Now let's get a couple hours of sleep, okay, Blue?" She rolled off of him and curled up on her side, and he soon took up a position behind her, tail curling around her thigh as he spooned her, not too closely so as not to aggravate his bruises.

A contented rumble came from his chest, and he heard Tabby stifle a giggle at the realization that Blue really did purr just like a cat.


	8. Freak

**AN: **This is probably the last chapter before things really heat up. I've edited a few things in order to ensure that some readers can still access the story, and the full version can be found at [ adult fan fiction (dot) net (slash) story (dot) php ?no=600090659 ]. Remove all the spaces and put in the symbols according to the parentheses. I despise this site's filter, by the way.

This chapter went more in an angsty direction than I originally expected, but the next chapter will be more filled with *ahem* other things.

**Warning: **Not exactly graphic, but be warned that it's got some bits in it.

**Disclaimer: **You think I own this? Hahaha… good one.

**Chapter 8: Freak**

The sunlight streaming in through the window was welcome for once; Kurt gave a little smile at the warmth it provided, keeping his eyes shut and wiggling a bit closer to his new bedfellow. She gave a sleepy but appreciative moan and rolled over to face him, hands settling on his chest, where they began to stroke through the fur slowly, perhaps unconsciously. His tail began stroking up and down her leg out of reflex, and soon she was squirming under his ministrations. With an impish grin he expanded his efforts, tail reaching down to wrap around her ankle and squeeze gently before traveling back up and running along the lines of her underwear.

An even louder moan came from Tabby, and Kurt opened his eyes, glad to find hers still closed. The morning light bathed her in a sort of halo, and Kurt hid a smile. The suggestion that the girl was anything even close to angelic would surely have brought a protest from her, yet here he was, lying with her in a moment so perfect that he would have sworn upon anything that she had come straight from heaven.

She pressed closer to him, and Kurt became aware of something new: at some point in the night, her shirt had come off, and now her bare chest was rubbing up against his. _Gott_, her skin was so incredibly soft. Kurt tried desperately not to let his eyes wander downward, but the effort was futile. Instead, he resigned himself to hoping she would keep her eyes closed as he stared at creamy white skin that he so desperately wanted to worship with his hands and mouth, skin that he knew would never be his to touch. He brought his tail back to his hand as he reminded himself of reality.

This was all a fluke, a mix-up, a mistake that she would soon regret and he would try to forget for the sake of their friendship. There was no possible way she could look at him in the light of day and still want to be with him. Only one person had ever wanted him that way… and now not even she did.

And so he touched her with his eyes, praying that she would keep her eyes closed so that they could stay together in this moment.

But he knew she would open her eyes soon.

Kurt braced himself for the inevitable, be it the shudder of revulsion, the scream of fright, or perhaps just the realization forming in her eyes that she had made a terrible mistake. He had seen all of them growing up in Germany.

The whole of Europe had been intrigued and enticed by the mystery surrounding the circus' star acrobat, and some girls had even been curious enough to enjoy a post-show performance in his wagon. All had screamed his name in ecstasy, but not one had returned. It was simple fact, and Kurt had resigned himself to the understanding that no girl would ever come back again.

Much to his shock at the time, Amanda had, but now she was gone, and having tasted that brief joy only deepened Kurt's conviction that no other would ever stay for the morning. Tabby would be no exception.

When she opened her eyes, she would take with her what little hope he still maintained, leaving what might have been lying in the imprint she left in his sheets. He pondered, with the deliberate idleness of someone trying to shrug off genuine hurt, just what her excuse for getting out of the room would be.

Her eyes fluttered, and Kurt found himself holding his breath, tensed and waiting for the peace to shatter.

Three heartbeats later, Tabby opened her eyes.

He gazed into blue, scanning her irises for fear, embarrassment, revulsion. He found none. And then a little smile crossed her lips.

"Morning, Blue," she said. "How ya feeling?"

Kurt Wagner, ever ready with a witty comeback even in the face of impending doom, was speechless. A few inarticulate sounds came out of his mouth, and he was glad to hear them cut off by Tabby's giggle.

"You're a real morning person, aren't ya, cutie?" She yawned and stretched, unaware or perhaps simply not caring that this brought certain parts of her anatomy directly in front of Kurt's face. Fortunately for his composure, he was still trying to process her lack of reaction to waking up with a blue-furred monster, and so he didn't react nearly as much as he might have otherwise. As it was, he managed to be somewhat discreet about moaning as the soft skin brushed against his cheek.

"Mmm… someone likes that, I think."

Apparently he hadn't been discreet enough.

Tabby began rubbing her body up and down against his, giving him more contact with female flesh in a few seconds than he'd had for weeks. Touching of any sort was his greatest weakness; he experienced so little of the casual contact a normal teenager received, and this in turn made him want to touch and be touched all the more. It felt so good to feel her torso moving against his, savor the feeling of his fur being pushed back and forth, lose himself in the simple joy of being wanted. His bruises were a mere afterthought.

But this was all wrong. No one wanted him. He had to stop this.

"Tabitha." It took an incredible amount of effort just to pronounce her name. Sensing his tone, she stilled for a moment. "This is a mistake, Tabitha. You're confused or something. I don't know. But you'll regret this, and I don't want you to—"

Her hand was over his mouth before he could finish. "Blue, I know exactly what I'm doing. Now let me do what I want… and what _you_ want."

She began stroking through the fur on his chest, and his back arched in response to her touch, trying to bring his body closer to her. Her lips found his neck, and his eyes closed in pleasure, only to spring open again as her tongue traced its way up to his ear.

_Wrong._

He left Tabitha with hands full of smoke as he reappeared on the other side of the room in a defensive crouch.

"_Nein_!" he snapped at her. "You don't really want me! No one wants a demon!"

Tabby stared at him, concerned but not understanding.

"_Was willst du mit mir, einem Dämon?_"

"Slow down, Blue," she said, sitting up and reaching toward him with her palm down in a calming gesture. "You're not making any sense."

Kurt shook his head wildly, eyes darting around. His thoughts were so jumbled, so off. He fought to organize them into what he was trying to say.

"I'm a freak. No one could ever want me. No one." The words came out too hard, too cold, too much like truth. It was as though they cut his lips and tongue as they left his mouth.

Tabby stared at him as if he had slapped her and spat in her face. Hurt and compassion and _Gott_ knew what else welled up behind her eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled.

"Oh Kurt… how could you say that?"

He gave a bitter, derisive snort. "I have very little problem telling the truth."

There was nothing to say to that, and Kurt knew it. And worst of all, he took a sort of perverse pleasure in watching her try.

"Believe me, Kurt, I know how you feel right now—"

"Do you really?" he asked, voice wavering between rage and despair, a half-shout and a whisper.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off by standing up and presenting himself for appraisal. He managed to hide his wince at the protests of his bruised torso.

"You see these hands?" he asked her, holding them out. "I can't play piano, can't write without it turning into scribbles, can't type on a normal keyboard. You know why I leave my shirts unbuttoned? Because these _verdammten_ fingers can't even handle normal buttons! When I needed to wear a tuxedo to the school dance, I tore three shirts before I gave up and asked the Professor to help me. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to depend on others for something as simple as that?"

Before she could respond, he moved a step closer and continued. "You see this fur? It covers my body completely, all but one place. I don't even use soap; just shampoo. When I was little, I took my Opa's straight razor and tried to shave it off. When that didn't work, I used bottles and bottles of hair removal cream. It burned so much, but I was too excited to see my fur coming off to care… I thought I'd finally be normal." He looked down and gave a little chuckle. "Turns out I'm just as blue underneath. Mutti caught me pouring all of the bleach I could find into our bathtub. Have you ever tried to burn yourself so that you could feel just a little bit more normal?"

Tears streamed down Tabby's face, finding no makeup to ruin this time. Kurt stepped closer, determined to press on despite his voice threatening to give way to a sob at any moment.

"You see these ears, these fangs, these eyes, this tail? Since the day I was born, people have been trying to kill me because of them. My own mother threw me over a waterfall. When I made my first teleport, it was because I was being burned at the stake. Every single day of my life, I have had to hide, whether it's hiding away from people altogether or hiding behind a hologram so they can't see the real me. Even in the mansion, people avoid me as if they think being blue and furry is contagious." He looked down at his hands, voice quavering. "The high-fives I used to get from Scott after our training sessions… I lived for those. Because no one else touches me on purpose. And now not even he does."

"And Amanda?" she whispered.

Kurt let out a laugh, a terrible and hollow sound that echoed around the room and sounded wrong even to his own ears. He saw Tabby's eyes filling with fear. Good; better fear than pity.

"She's made it very clear she's glad not to be dating a circus freak anymore. I think her exact words were, 'Oh god, I forgot how good real skin feels. Harder, more, yes, oh god, yes.'" The words came out in a monotone that made them all the more disturbing.

Tabby began reaching out to him again, but he stepped away.

"Look at me, damn it! I'm…" Searching for a word, he cast his eyes over to his mirror and realized just how pathetic a sight he was. He stood naked, tail thrashing around behind him, testament to his freakish nature. His hair was disheveled and in desperate need of cutting, and worst of all, the fur on his stomach was matted and crusty with evidence of his weakness. A tear finally escaped his eye, and he crouched down with his head in his hands, growling and sobbing as he tried to regain control of himself.

_You pathetic, miserable little demon! You're embarrassing yourself! Get it together or—_

Two arms looped around his chest, and he felt warmth pressing against his back.

"I have been looking at you, Blue. And I like what I see. You're different, sure. No denying it. But that's not bad." She ran her fingers through the fur on his chest, around to his arms, up and down his back. "I like this. Your fur's so soft and nice. I loved curling up with you this morning… and you made me feel safe, protected. You're so amazing, Kurt, and anyone who can't see that deserves a boot in the ass and a life full of people as boring and closed-minded as they are."

Kurt's tears subsided as she spoke, and after a while he brought his head up. Tabby pulled up on his arms, signaling for him to stand. With some effort and a slight groan, he managed to get up without too much pain. Tabitha wrapped her arms around him from behind again. Glancing in the mirror, he saw her holding him, head resting on his back, a look of peace on her face despite the salty trails on her cheeks. Her pale skin against his dark blue fur made for a striking contrast, but it was oddly beautiful.

"See, Blue? It's gonna be okay."

And for once, he believed it.

**Glossary**

_**Verdammten:**__ Damned._

_**Was willst du mit mir, einem Dämon**__**?**__: What do you want with me, a demon?_

**Corrected some German thanks to Bamfisawesome and "Speedy". If anyone who speaks German finds any other errors in this, please let me know.  
**


	9. Adrenaline Rush

**AN: **A big thanks to Wish-I-Had-a-Tail for her help and advice, and thanks to everyone else who's been reviewing! I know the story is progressing slowly, but I hope it's worth the wait. I apologize for taking so long to write these, but I'm not willing to let the chapters go out without being satisfied with their quality.

**Warnings: LOTS of raciness** to be found here, and this is even the edited version. You can find the complete version as I intended it at http[colon slash slash]xmen[dot]adultfanfiction[dot]net/story[dot]php?no=600090659. I haven't changed too much, but I have removed all swearing and some catchwords that trip a certain someone's filter… If you feel this is too racy for even an M rating, **_please_ let me know before you report it**. I'm more than willing to edit further, and I would really hate to lose so much hard work over something so easy to fix.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Kurt or any of the other X-Men. I used to own Kurt. But at that time, he was only four inches tall, and his suction cups wore out and he didn't stick to my window anymore.

**Chapter 9: Adrenaline Rush**

In all his time at the Xavier Institute, Kurt had never dreamed he would find himself in this particular position— namely, pinning Tabitha Smith's ankles behind her head as he buried himself inside her.

She followed him perfectly, rocking back into him in a synchronization of bodies that went beyond natural; like two strangers who had studied the same dance, they moved together in a mutual understanding that required no words. The last article of her clothing lay on the floor, discarded somewhere in the madness of heat and urgency. Kurt was glad he had even had the presence of mind to pull adequate protection from his nightstand before diving in wholesale; if he had remembered only now, it would have been a struggle to stop.

Kurt felt her approaching climax yet again, and he brought his tail in between them to rub at the bundle of nerves that would bring her all the way. It was the next step in his series of ever-escalating tricks; he was thorough, methodical, almost scientific in his ministrations. Everything he did was geared towards her satisfaction, and he was pleased to see it working like a charm.

As Tabby tightened around him, she let out a shuddering, gasping moan. He grinned at her and chuckled.

"Now I know why you like that sound so much, Boom-Boom."

He brought her legs back down to rest on the bed and placed his hands on either side of her. Slowing his thrusts to give her time to recover, he began kissing her collarbone, scraping gently with his fangs to heighten the sensation. As he began speeding up again, though, she grabbed hold of his hips to still him. She took a moment to collect her breath, then spoke.

"Okay, Blue. You've definitely proven you can show a girl a good time. God, did you prove that." Her eyes fluttered for a moment, not entirely focused. "But if you keep going like this, I'm gonna be sore all day. So how about you concentrate on you now?"

His lips came down to kiss her ear, then after he ran his tongue along each of her piercings, he whispered, "_En levrette_?" A quick nod from Tabitha, and Kurt pulled out. As she took up position on her knees, he gave her a grin. "I didn't know you spoke French, Tabitha."

She looked over her shoulder at him and smirked. "Only the important stuff. Now… _nique moi, s'il te plaît_."

"Always happy to oblige," he said as he slid back into her.

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to banish his wayward thoughts. First he tried to focus in on nothing but the feeling of in and out, in and out, friction and heat and wetness and pressure, increasing his speed and intensity to try and coax out his release. Nothing. The sensation was incredible, but it was somehow foreign, unfamiliar.

When the first tactic failed, he opened his eyes and brought all of his senses to bear. The feel of her smooth skin, the sight of sweat beads dripping from his forehead to land and burst and roll down the perfect curve of her back, the sound of her moaning his name into the pillow as though it were the most pleasurable secret in the world, the lingering taste of her mouth, the scent of exertion and latex and arousal and a fragrance that was purely Tabitha; all of these swirled around him and drove him wild. He was on the edge of ecstasy, and yet something was holding him back.

Something was missing.

Kurt closed his eyes and ran his hands along her body, gliding up her stomach, feeling out unfamiliar curves. The ones he found were lovely and full… too full. He kissed along her neck and found that she wore some sort of perfume, lightly applied. It was something subdued and tasteful; almost no one would have believed Tabby had chosen it herself. But it wasn't that mix of jasmine and cloves…

He slowly stopped thrusting and placed his hand on the small of her back, stroking almost apologetically. "Tabby, I'm sorry. I… I can't."

Tabby turned her head to look at him, face holding worry and possibly a little bit of hurt. "Blue, we've been at this for an hour. If you don't come, it's going to be insanely painful for you when you stop. Just… do whatever you need to do, okay?

He nodded, then tried again to block out everything but his own pleasure. With an almost-feral growl, he hooked his arms around her elbows and pulled to bring her down, changing the angle so that she lay flat on the bed and he lay on top of her. As he pounded into her, he locked his feet with hers. This position gave him extra leverage to drive deep inside her, and judging by her screams, she was appreciating it. A hand went underneath her hips to rub at that nub again, and she began bucking and shuddering almost instantly. Another climax hit her, and he gasped as he felt her clenching around him. He willed himself to follow her, but it still wasn't working. It felt different, even wrong, to be in this position with an unfamiliar body.

Slowing to a stop again, he lay on top of her, letting her ride out the last shocks. "It's not… I'm sorry, but I can't do it like this. It's not you, not at all—"

She stopped him with a hand over his mouth. How did she manage to reach back like that? He was the one who was supposed to be a contortionist. "I don't care, Kurt. Now please, just take care of yourself."

He pulled out of her again, then rolled off the confining latex, tossing it into the trash near his bed. He lay on his back and began stroking himself with both hands, jerking fiercely more in hopes of being done with it all than to give himself any real enjoyment.

Blue slid down over yellow and white. Eyes closed, Kurt found an image flashing unbidden in his mind.

_Long brown hair swirled around him, framing her face. Brown eyes looked down at him with something he had never seen before; it had to be love. Her mouth opened, and she threw her head back, calling out his name…_

Like a switch being flipped, he sensed the end approaching and braced himself. He arched his back, and the sheets bunched together under his feet as his release was ripped from him. He lay there, utterly spent, until his mind started working again and began processing what had just happened. Still reeling with aftershocks, he recalled pulsing, moaning, gasping, crying out…

_Oh _Gott._ No…_

After a moment of silence, he looked over at Tabitha, reluctant to meet her gaze.

"Tabby, did I…"

She looked at him, eyes filled with sadness and, strangely enough, understanding.

"Yeah… You said her name." Tabitha turned onto her side and placed her hand on Kurt's chest, reassuring despite what had just happened.

"I'm so sorry, Tabby, I—"

He was cut off with a kiss, fierce and almost angry.

"Apologize again and I slap you." Her eyes were filled with angry tears. "It's not your fault, Blue! It's not! So don't _ever_ apologize for what she did to you… or what she's still doing." She looked down, and he saw a tear fall to land on his sheets. "I may not know about the other stuff, but I know exactly what this is like, Kurt."

Kurt clenched his fists, embarrassed to see and feel the stickiness on them. "But why… you felt so good but I still couldn't… do that. Why not? What's wrong with me, Tabitha?" He looked to her, hoping she would have some sort of answer.

She gave him a weak smile. "You're still in love with her, Blue. If she came in here right now and asked you to jump off the balcony, you'd do it with a smile on your face."

"I want to disagree, but…" He gave a sigh. "_Ja_. I'm such a _Scheißkopf_; I would."

Tabby began stroking along his chest again, running long fingernails through his fur. It felt amazing in the midst of his afterglow. As she moved to his stomach, though, he gasped in pain. She pulled her hand away with a sympathetic wince. "The bruises?"

"_Ja_," he croaked. "But why now? An hour of that, _und_ only now it starts hurting?"

"Adrenaline." She gave him another smirk, this time much happier. "Get your adrenaline going, and all of a sudden you're Superman. You're paying for it now, but I've gotta say, Blue… I'm impressed."

"Always happy to be of service, _junge Frau_," he said with a rueful grin. "Encore tonight?"

"Absolutely. Especially that last position. My God, where'd you learn to do that?"

His face fell. "That was… our position. Hers and mine. We discovered it ourselves; it was our little secret, something we had only shared with each other. Even when I found out about _him_, I thought it was going to stay that way." A bitter bark of a laugh came out. "Then she sent me that video. Interesting way of saying the position was fair game."

"She made a _video_?" Tabby stiffened, and Kurt could tell she was making an effort to remain still. A look of fury passed across her face, and then a malicious smile. "So that's that, then. I'm gonna get the girls together, and we're gonna go explain to her that you don't mess with our elf. Mind if I borrow those swords in your closet?"

"No, Tabby, please!" Kurt grabbed her arm, desperation in his voice. "The others don't even know we're broken up yet, much less this. And I don't ever want them to know about what she did." He looked at her, pleading with his eyes. "I don't need more pity."

Those eyes were too much for her. She made a little growling noise, then looked away. "Oh, that's cheating, Blue. You've got the best puppy-dog eyes I've ever seen, and you know it."

"Does that mean you won't tell?"

"Yeah… I won't tell."

He grabbed hold of her in a quick embrace. "_Danke_, Tabby."

"No problem, Blue."

Kurt got up, wincing as he did. "And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to self-medicate a bit." He opened the drawer to his nightstand, fishing through the papers to pull out what remained of his last bottle of vodka.

"What the hell?" Tabby was incredulous. "What are you doing with that?"

"Drinking it is the recommended use," he replied, taking a swig to illustrate his point.

"Well duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "But why are _you_ drinking it? And how can you manage to choke that down? Even my old man stays away from the bottom shelf."

He grimaced. "I thought we'd already established my reasoning. And as for the admittedly questionable vintage…" Kurt brought the bottle to his lips again, this time with a snooty expression as he pretended to sniff it, then took a drink and swished it around. It was too much for him, and he had to swallow quickly as he began coughing. "The bouquet is a bit robust," he said between gasps for air, "But apart from that it's not an entirely bad year."

Tabby giggled despite herself. "Oh, Blue, this is why you're so amazing." Realizing after a moment that he was trying to distract her, she stopped herself. "But _this_…" She grabbed for the bottle, but he kept it away from her easily. "_This_ isn't like you. You don't need this."

"_Au contraire_, it's the best multi-purpose painkiller ever. I happen to be in lots of multi-purpose pain. Hence, perfect match." He turned his back on her as he tilted his head back and began drinking in earnest.

"It's not a real solution, Kurt!" She was almost shouting at this point.

Kurt gulped and turned back to her, vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. He wasn't sure if they were from alcohol or emotion. "It's the only thing that works," he said just above a whisper.

"You can't run from this, no matter how much you want to. It's going to catch up with you. Believe me… I've tried. You spend so long trying to get away, but it never really works, and when you come out of it, you're even worse off than when you started."

"So what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "I can't carry the team if I'm dealing with this too, and Scott and Jean aren't leading. If I can't function, who's going to keep the X-Men going?"

"Logan's back now. The team won't fall apart with him around. Besides, how long do you think you can really keep this up, Kurt? Another month, maybe? Then what?"

He snorted. "Retire to a lovely little villa in South America where I can continue to drink myself into oblivion. I'm sure my dear mother would be willing to fund the venture."

"Stop it," Tabby snapped. "You're not wasting your life like this. I'm not going to let you."

"But I can't handle this, Tabitha! I'm still in love with her, and I don't know how not to be!"

She seized him in a hug, holding his head to her chest. "The only thing that's gonna help is time. And I'm here for you. I can help you ride it out."

Something instinctual took over Kurt's actions, and he began licking at the flesh that was in reach of his mouth, swirling his tongue around to tease the sensitive skin. Her moans further encouraged him, and he began running his fingers up and down her back in intricate patterns. Though it had only been a few minutes, his body was already preparing for more.

As his hands strayed farther, a knock sounded at his door. Kurt froze, praying to every god he had heard of and some he invented on the spot that if Kätzchen was outside, she would wait before phasing in.

"Not to interrupt, Elf, but if you two want to eat lunch, you'd better do your thing and get down there. 'Ro made cumin chicken and peanut soup, and if you're not at the table by the time I get to seconds, I'm taking yours. Been too long without good cooking."

Kurt let out a sigh, relieved that it was only Logan… and then proceeded to blush so furiously that it was nearly visible under his fur. _Only_ Logan? Only a furious little whirlwind of a man who wouldn't hesitate to make sushi of anything in sight? Only a man with senses that could pick up the most minute details of a situation, down to the emotions in play?

Logan had to have overheard at least something. Kurt hoped that he hadn't been privy to much of the conversation, but he resigned himself to the knowledge that there was nothing to be done. He trusted the older man not to tell anyone unless he saw it as a serious safety issue.

"Oh, and Elf: you've only got twelve hours left on that deadline. Don't let me catch you smelling like that crap after tonight. You might want to tip it back up, too. It's getting on the rug." Footsteps made their way down the hall into silence.

Kurt reached down and found the bottle, unthinkingly discarded, dripping vodka onto the carpet. He picked it up and set it on top of his nightstand.

Sometimes Kurt truly hated that man's nose.

"All right, Tabby," he said. "For now, I'm just going to have to trust you that that little light at the end of the tunnel isn't from a fast-approaching train." Banishing his inhibitions, he gave her his trademark grin, followed by a quick peck. "So now that we've been undeniably caught in the act," he said as he brought his hands up to caress her again. "Would _mademoiselle_ like to come one time or two?"

She grinned and pulled him down for a kiss.

**Glossary**

_**En levrette**__: Doggy style (French)_

_**Nique moi, s'il te plaît**__: F*ck me, please (French)._

_**Scheißkopf**__: Sh*thead (German)._

_**Au contraire**__: On the contrary (French)._

_**Junge Frau**__: Young lady (German) [__Fräulein__ is outdated in current German.]_


End file.
